Li£l£N  G  r  H  E   HILLS 


WHITTI.ER 


AMONG    THE    HILLS, 


AND 


OTHER    POEMS 


BY 


JOHN    GREENLEAF    WHITTIER. 


BOSTON: 
FIELDS,     OSGOOD,     &     CO., 

SUCCESSORS    TO   TICKNOR    AND    FIELDS. 
1869. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

AMONG  THE  HILLS 9 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

THE  CLEAR  VISION 45 

THE  DOLE  OF  JARL  THORKELL 49 

THE  Two  RABBIS 57 

THE  MEETING 63 

THE  ANSWER 78 

G.  L.  S.    .                                 83 

FREEDOM  IN  BRAZIL S6 

DIVINE  COMPASSION 90 

LINES  ON  A  FLY-LEAF 93 

HYMN  FOR  THE  HOUSE  OF  WORSHIP  AT  GEORGETOWN  98 


AMONG    THE    HILLS 


L  * 


PRELUDE. 

A  LONG  the  roadside,  like  the  flowers  of  gold 

That  tawny  Incas  for  their  gardens  wrought, 
Heavy  with  sunshine  droops  the  golden-rod, 
And  the  red  pennons  of  the  cardinal-flowers 
Hang  motionless  upon  their  upright  staves. 
The  sky  is  hot  and  hazy,  and  the  wind, 
Wing-weary  with  its  long  flight  from  the  south, 
Unfelt  ;  yet,  closely  scanned,  yon  maple  leaf 
With  faintest  motion,  as  one  stirs  in  dreams, 


12  AMONG   THE   HILLS. 

Confesses  it.     The  locust  by  the  wall 
Stabs  the  noon-silence  with  his  sharp  alarm. 
A  single  hay-cart  down  the  dusty  road 
Creaks  slowly,  with  its  driver  fast  asleep 
On  the  load's  top.     Against  the  neighboring  hill, 
Huddled  along  the  stone   wall's  shady  side, 
The  sheep  show  white,  as  if  a  snow-drift  still 
Defied  the  dog-star.     Through  the  open  door 
A  drowsy  smell  of  flowers  —  gray  heliotrope, 
And  white  sweet-clover,  and  shy  mignonette  — 
Comes  faintly  in,  and  silent  chorus  lends   . 
To  the  pervading  symphony  of  peace. 

No  time  is  this  for  hands  long  overworn 

To  task  their  strength  ;    and  (unto  Him  be  praise 

Who  giveth  quietness  ! )    the  stress  and  strain 

Of  years  that  did  the  work  of  centuries 

Have   ceased,   and   we    can    draw  our  breath   once 


more 


PRELUDE.  13 

Freely  and  full.     So,  as  yon  harvesters 

Make  glad  their  nooning  underneath  the  elms 

With  tale  and  riddle  and  old  snatch  of  song, 

I  lay  aside  grave  themes,  and  idly  turn 

The  leaves  of  Memory's  sketch-book,  dreaming  o'er 

Old  summer  pictures  of  the  quiet  hills, 

And  human  life,  as  quiet,  at  their  feet. 

And  yet  not  idly  all.     A  farmer's  son, 

Proud  of  field-lore  and  harvest  craft,  and  feeling 

All  their  fine  possibilities,  how  rich 

And  restful  even  poverty  and  toil 

Become  when  beauty,  harmony,  and  love 

Sit  at  their  humble  hearth  as  angels  sat 

At  evening  in  the  patriarch's  tent,  when  man 

Makes  labor  noble,  and   his  farmer's  frock 

The  symbol  of  a  Christian  chivalry 

Tender  and  just  and  generous  to  her 


14  AMONG    THE    HILLS. 

Who  clothes  with  grace  all  duty  ;  still,  I  know 

Too  well  the  picture  has  another  side,  — 

How  wearily  the  grind  of  toil  goes  on 

Where  love  is  wanting,  how  the  eye  and  ear 

And  heart  are  starved  amidst  the  plenitude 

Of  nature,  and  how  hard  and  colorless 

Is  life  without  an  atmosphere.     I  look 

Across  the  lapse  of  half  a  century, 

And  call  to  mind  old  homesteads,  where  no  flower 

Told  that  the  spring  had  come,  but  evil  weeds, 

Nightshade  and  rough-leaved   burdock  in  the  place 

Of  the  sweet  doorway  greeting  of  the  rose 

And  honeysuckle,  where  the  house  walls  seemed 

Blistering  in  sun,  without  a  tree  or  vine 

To  cast  the  tremulous  shadow  of  its  leaves 

Across  the  curtainless  windows  from  whose  panes 

Fluttered  the  signal  rags  of  shiftlessness  ; 

Within,  the  cluttered  kitchen-floor,  unwashed 


PRELUDE.  -    15 

(Broom -clean    I    think    they   called    it)  ;    the    best 

room 

Stifling  with  cellar  damp,  shut  from  the  air 
In  hot  midsummer,  bookless,  pictureless 
Save  the  inevitable  sampler  hung 
Over  the  fireplace,  or  a  mourning-piece, 
A  green-haired  woman,  peony-cheeked,  beneath 
Impossible  willows  ;    the  wide-throated  hearth 
Bristling  with  faded  pine-boughs  half  concealing 
The  piled-up  rubbish  at  the  chimney's  back  ; 
And,  in  sad  keeping  with  all  things  about  them, 
Shrill,  querulous  women,  sour  and  sullen  men, 
Untidy,  loveless,  old  before  their  time, 
With  scarce  a  human  interest  save  their  own 
Monotonous  round  of  small  economies, 
Or  the  poor  scandal  of  the  neighborhood  ; 
Blind  to  the  beauty  everywhere  revealed, 
Treading  the  May-flowers  with  regardless  feet  ; 


1 6  AMONG    THE    HILLS. 

For  them  the  song-sparrow  and  the  bobolink 
Sang  not,  nor  winds  made  music  in  the  leaves  ; 
For  them  in  vain  October's  holocaust 
Burned,  gold  and  crimson,  over  all  the  hills, 
The  sacramental  mystery  of  the  woods. 
Church-goers,  fearful  of  the  unseen  Powers, 
But  grumbling  over  pulpit-tax  and  pew-rent, 
Saving,  as  shrewd  economists,  their  souls 
And  winter  pork  with  the  least  possible  outlay 
Of  salt  and  sanctity  ;    in  daily  life 
Showing  as  little  actual  comprehension 
Of  Christian  charity  and  love  and  duty, 
As  if  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  had  been 
Outdated  like  a  last  year's  almanac  : 
Rich  in  broad  woodlands  and  in  half-tilled  fields, 
And  yet  so  pinched  and  bare  and  comfortless,- 
The  veriest  straggler  limping  on  his  rounds, 
The  sun  and  air  his  sole  inheritance, 


PRELUDE.  .  I/ 

Laughed  at  a  poverty  that  paid  its  taxes, 
And  hugged-  his  rags  in  self-complacency  ! 

Not  such  should  be  the  homesteads  of  a  land 
Where  whoso  wisely  wills  and  acts  may  dwell 
As  king  and  lawgiver,  in  broad-acred  state, 
With  beauty,  art,  taste,  culture,  books,  to  make 
His  hour  of  leisure  richer  than  a  life 
Of  fourscore  to  the  barons  of  old  time, 
Our  yeoman  should  be  equal  to  his  home 
Set  in  the  fair,  green  valleys,  purple  walled, 
A  man  to  match  his  mountains,  not  to  creep 
Dwarfed  and  abased  below  them.     I  would  fain 
In  this  light  way  (of  which  I  needs  must  own 
With  the  knife-grinder  of  whom  Canning  sings, 
"  Story,  God  bless  you  !    I  have  none  to  tell  you  1 ' ) 
Invite  the  eye  to  see  and  heart  to  feel 
The  beauty  and  the  joy  within  their  reach,  — 


1 8  AMONG    THE    HILLS. 

Home,  and  home  loves,  and  the  beatitudes 

Of  nature  free  to  all.     Haply  in  years 

That  wait  to  take  the  places  of  our  own, 

Heard  where  some  breezy  balcony  looks  down 

On  happy  homes,  or  where  the  lake  in  the  moon 

Sleeps  dreaming  of  the  mountains,  fair  as  Ruth, 

In  the  old  Hebrew  pastoral,  at  the  feet 

Of  Boaz,  even  this  simple  lay  of  mine 

May  seem  the  burden  of  a  prophecy, 

Finding  its  late  'fulfilment  in  a  change 

Slow  as  the  oak's  growth,  lifting  manhood  up 

Through  broader  culture,  finer  manners,  love, 

And  reverence,  to  the  level  of  the  hills. 

O  Golden  Age,  whose  light  is  of  the  dawn, 
And  not  of  sunset,  forward,  not  behind, 
Flood   the   new  heavens   and   earth,  and    with    thee 
bring 


PRELUDE.  IQ 

All  the  old  virtues,  whatsoever  things 

Are  pure  and  honest  and  of  good  repute, 

But  add  thereto  whatever  bard  has  sung 

Or  seer  has  told  of  when  in  trance  and  dream 

They  saw  the  Happy  Isles  of  prophecy  ! 

Let  Justice  hold  her  scale,  and  Truth  divide 

Between  the  right  and  wrong  ;  but  give  the  heart 

The  freedom  of  its  fair  inheritance  ; 

Let  the  poor  prisoner,  cramped  and  starved  so  long, 

At  Nature's  table  feast  his  ear  and  eye 

With  joy  and  wonder  ;  let  all  harmonies 

Of  sound,  form,   color,  motion,  wait  upon 

The  princely  guest,  whether  in  soft  attire 

Of  leisure  clad,  or  the  coarse  frock  of  toil. 

And,  lending  life  to  the  dead  form  of  faith, 

Give  human  nature  reverence  for  the  sake 

Of  One  who  bore  it,  making  it  divine 

With  the  ineffable  tenderness  of  God  ; 


2O  AMONG    THE    HILLS. 

Let  common  need,  the  brotherhood  of  prayer, 

The  heirship  of  an  unknown  destiny, 

The  unsolved  mystery  round  about  us,  make 

A  man  more  precious  than  the  gold  of  Ophir. 

Sacred,  inviolate,  unto  whom  all  things 

Should  minister,  as  outward  types  and  signs 

Of  the  eternal  beauty  which  fulfils 

The  one  great  purpose  of  creation,  Love, 

The  sole  necessity  of  Earth  and  Heaven  ! 


AMONG    THE    HILLS.  21 


AMONG    THE    HILLS. 

FOR  weeks  the  clouds  had  raked  the  hills 

And  vexed  the  vales  with  raining, 
And  all  the  woods  were  sad  with  mist, 
And  all  the  brooks  complaining. 

At  last,  a  sudden  night-storm  tore 

The  mountain  veils  asunder, 
And  swept  the  valleys  clean  before 

The  besom  of  the  thunder. 

Through  Sandwich  notch  the  west-wind  sang 

Good  morrow  to  the  cotter  ; 
And  once  again  Chocorua's  horn 

Of  shadow  pierced  the  water. 


22  AMONG    THE    HILLS. 

Above  his  broad  lake  Ossipee, 
Once  more  the  sunshine  wearing, 

Stooped,  tracing  on  that  silver  shield 
His  grim  armorial  bearing. 

Clear  drawn  against  the  hard  blue  sky 
The  peaks  had  winter's  keenness  ; 

And,  close  on  autumn's  frost,  the  vales 
Had  more  than  June's  fresh  greenness. 

Again  the  sodden  forest  floors 

With  golden  lights  were  checkered, 

Once  more  rejoicing  leaves  in  wind 
And  sunshine  danced  and  flickered. 

It  was  as  if  the  summer's  late 

Atoning  for  its  sadness 
Had  borrowed  every  season's  charm 

To  end  its  days  in  gladness. 


AMONG   THE    HILLS.  23 

I  call  to  mind  those  banded  vales 

Of  shadow  and  of  shining, 
Through  which,  my  hostess  at  my  side, 

I  drove  in  day's  declining. 

We  held  our  sideling  way  above 

The  river's  whitening  shallows, 
By  homesteads  old,  with  wide-flung  barns 

Swept  through  and  through  by  swallows,  — 

By  maple  orchards,  belts  of  pine 

And  larches  climbing  darkly 
The  mountain  slopes,  and,  over  all, 

The  great  peaks  rising  starkly. 

You  should  have  seen  that  long  hill-range 

With  gaps  of  brightness  riven,  — 
How  through  each  pass  and  hollow  streamed 

The  purpling  lights  of  heaven,  — 


24  AMONG    THE    HILLS. 

Rivers  of  gold-mist  flowing  down 

From  far  celestial  fountains, . — 
The  great  sun  flaming  through  the  rifts 

Beyond  the  wall  of  mountains ! 

We  paused  at  last  where  home-bound  cows 
Brought  down  the  pasture's  treasure, 

And  in  the  barn  the  rhythmic  flails 
Beat  out  a  harvest  measure. 

We  heard  the  night-hawk's  sullen  plunge, 
The  crow  his  tree-mates  calling : 

The  shadows  lengthening  down  the  slopes 
About  our  feet  were  falling. 

And  through  them  smote  the  level  sun 

In  broken  lines  of  splendor, 
Touched  the  gray  rocks  and  made  the  green 

Of  the  shorn  grass  more  tender. 


AMONG   THE    HILLS.  25 

The  maples  bending  o'er  the  gate, 

Their  arch  of  leaves  just  tinted 
With  yellow  warmth,  the  golden   glow 

Of  coming  autumn  hinted. 

Keen  white  between  the  farm-house  showed, 

And  smiled  on  porch  and  trellis, 
The  fair  democracy  of  flowers 

That  equals  cot  and  palace. 

And  weaving  garlands  for  her  dog, 

'Twixt  chidings  and  caresses, 
A  human  flower  of  childhood  shook 

The  sunshine  from  her  tresses. 

On  either  hand  we  saw  the  signs 

Of  fancy  and  of  shrewdness, 
Where  taste  had  wound  its  arms  of  vines 

Round  thrift's  uncomely  rudeness. 


26  AMONG   THE    HILLS. 

The  sun-brown  farmer  in  his  frock 
Shook  hands,  and  called  to  Mary  : 

Bare -armed,  as  Juno  might,  she  came. 
White-aproned  from  her  dairy. 

Her  air,  her  smile,  her  motions,  told 
Of  womanly  completeness  ; 

A  music  as  of  household  songs 
Was  in  her  voice  of  sweetness. 

Not  beautiful  in  curve  and  line, 
But  something  more  and  better, 

The  secret  charm  eluding  art, 
Its  spirit,  not  its  letter  ;  - 

An  inborn  grace  that  nothing  lacked 
Of  culture  or  appliance,  — 

The  warmth  of  genial  courtesy, 
The  calm  of  self-reliance. 


AMONG    THE    HILLS.  2/ 

Before  her  queenly  womanhood 

How  dared  our  hostess  utter 
The  paltry  errand  of  her  need 

To  buy  her  fresh-churned  butter  ? 

She  led  the  way  with  housewife  pride, 

Her  goodly  store  disclosing, 
Full  tenderly  the  golden  balls 

With  practised  hands  disposing. 

Then,  while  along  the  western  hills 
We  watched  the  changeful  glory 

Of  sunset,  on  our  homeward  way, 
I  heard  her  simple  story. 

The  early  crickets  sang  ;  the  stream 
Plashed  through  my  friend's  narration  : 

Her  rustic  patois  of  the  hills 
Lost  in  my  free  translation. 


28  AMONG    THE    HILLS. 

"More  wise,"  she  said,  "than  those  who  swarm 

Our  hills  in  middle  summer, 
She  came,  when  June's  first  roses  blow, 

To  greet  the  early  comer. 

"  From  school  and  ball  and  rout  she  came, 

The  city's  fair,  pale  daughter, 
To  drink  the  wine  of  mountain  air 

Beside  the  Bearcamp  Water. 

"  Her  step  grew  firmer  on  the  hills 
That  watch  our  homesteads  over  ; 

On  cheek  and  lip,  from  summer  fields, 
She  caught  the  bloom  of  clover. 

"  For  health  comes  sparkling  in  the  streams 

From  cool  Chocorua  stealing  : 
There  's  iron  in  our  Northern  winds  ; 

Our  pines  are  trees  of  healing. 


AMONG    THE    HILLS.  29 

u  She  sat  beneath  the  broad-armed  elms 

That  skirt  the  mowing-meadow, 
And  watched  the  gentle  west-wind  weave 

The  grass  with  shine  and  shadow. 

"Beside  her,  from  the  summer  heat 

To  share  her  grateful  screening, 
With  forehead  bared,  the  farmer  stood, 

Upon  his  pitchfork  leaning. 

"Framed  in  its  damp,  dark  locks,  his  face 
Had  nothing  mean  or  common,  — 

Strong,  manly,  true,  the  tenderness 
And  pride  beloved  of  woman. 

"  She  looked  up,  glowing  with  the  health 
The  country  air  had  brought  her, 

And,  laughing,  said  :    '  You  lack  a  wife, 
Your  mother  lacks  a  daughter. 


3<D  AMONG    THE    HILLS. 

" '  To  mend  your  frock  and  bake  your  bread 

You  do  not  need  a  lady  : 
Be  sure  among  these  brown  old  homes 

Is  some  one  waiting  ready,  — 

"  '  Some  fair,  sweet  girl  with  skilful  hand 
And  cheerful  heart  for  treasure, 

Who  never  played  with  ivory  keys, 
Or  danced  the  polka's  measure.' 

"  He  bent  his  black  brows  to  a  frown, 

He  set  his  white  teeth  tightly. 
'  'T  is  well,'  he  said,  '  for  one  like  you 

To  choose  for  me  so  lightly. 

"  '  You  think,  because  my  life  is  rude, 

I  take  no  note  of  sweetness  : 
I  tell  you  love  has  naught  to  do 

With  meetness  or  unmeetness. 


AMONG    THE    HILLS.  3! 

" '  Itself  its  best  excuse,  it  asks 

No  leave  of  pride  or  fashion 
When  silken  zone  or  homespun  frock 

It  stirs  with  throbs  of  passion. 

"  '  You  think  me  deaf  and  blind  :  you  bring 

Your  winning  graces  hither 
As  free  as  if  from  cradle-time 

We  two  had  played  together. 

"  '  You  tempt  me  with  your  laughing  eyes, 
Your  cheek  of  sundown's  blushes, 

A  motion  as  of  waving  grain, 
A  music  as  of  thrushes, 

'  The  plaything  of  your  summer  sport, 
The  spells  you  weave  around  me 
You  cannot  at  your  will  undo, 
Nor  leave  me  as  you  found  me. 


32  AMONG    THE    HILLS. 

" '  You  go  as  lightly  as  you  came, 
Your  life  is  well  without  me  ; 

What  care  you  that  these  hills  will  close 
Like  prison-walls  about  me  ? 

"  '  No  mood  is  mine  to  seek  a  wife, 
Or  daughter  for  my  mother  : 

Who  loves  you  loses  in  that  love 
All  power  to  love  another ! 

" '  I  dare  your  pity  or  your  scorn, 
With  pride  your  own  exceeding ; 

I  fling  my  heart  into  your  lap 
Without  a  word  of  pleading.' 

"  She  looked  up  in  his  face  of  pain 

So  archly,  yet  so  tender  : 
'And  if  I  lend  you  mine,'  she  said, 

'  Will  you  forgive  the ,  lender  ? 


AMONG   THE    HILLS.  33 

" '  Nor  frock  nor  tan  can  hide  the  man ; 

And  see  you  not,  my  farmer, 
How  weak  and  fond  a  woman  waits 

Behind  this  silken  armor  ? 

" '  I  love  you :  on  that  love  alone, 

And  not  my  worth,  presuming, 
Will  you  not  trust  for  summer  fruit 

The  tree  in  May-day  blooming  ? ' 

"Alone  the  hangbird  overhead, 

His  hair-swung  cradle  straining, 
Looked  down  to  see  love's  miracle, — 

The  giving  that  is  gaining. 

"And  so  the  farmer  found  a  wife, 

His  mother  found  a  daughter  : 
There  looks  no  happier  home  than  hers 

On  pleasant  Bearcamp  Water. 


34  AMONG   THE   HILLS. 

"  Flowers  spring  to  blossom  where  she  walks 

The  careful  ways  of  duty  ; 
Our  hard,  stiff  lines  of  life  with  her 

Are  flowing  curves  of  beauty. 

"  Our  homes  are  cheerier  for  her  sake, 
Our  door-yards  brighter  blooming, 

And  all  about  the  social  air 
Is  sweeter  for  her  coming. 

"  Unspoken  homilies  of  peace 
Her  daily  life  is  preaching  ; 
The  still  refreshment  of  the  dew 


Is  her  unconscious  teaching. 


"And  never  tenderer  hand  than  hers 
Unknits  the  brow  of  ailing  ; 

Her  garments  to  the  sick  man's  ear 
Have  music  in  their  trailing. 


AMONG   THE    HILLS.  35 

"And  when,  in  pleasant  harvest  moons, 

The  youthful  buskers  gather, 
Or  sleigh-drives  on  the  mountain  ways 

Defy  the  winter  weather, — 

"  In  sugar-camps,  when  south  and  warm 
The  winds  of  March  are  blowing, 

And  sweetly  from  its  thawing  veins 
The  maple's  blood  is  flowing,  — 

"  In  summer,  where  some  lilied  pond 

Its  virgin  zone  is  baring, 
Or  where  the  ruddy  autumn  fire 

Lights  up  the  apple-paring,  — 

"  The  coarseness  of  a  ruder  time 

Her  finer  mirth  displaces, 
A  subtler  sense  of  pleasure  fills 

Each  rustic  sport  she  graces. 


36  AMONG   THE   HILLS. 

"  Her  presence  lends  its  warmth  and  health 

To  all  who  come  before  it. 
If  woman  lost  us  Eden,  such 

As  she  alone  restore  it. 

"  For  larger  life  and  wiser  aims 

The  farmer  is  her  debtor ; 
Who  holds  to  his  another's  heart 

Must  needs  be  worse  or  better. 

"  Through  her  his  civic  service  shows 

A  purer-toned  ambition  ; 
No  double  consciousness  divides 

The  man  and  politician. 

"  In  party's  doubtful  ways  he  trusts, 

Her  instincts  to  determine  ; 
At  the  loud  polls,  the  thought  of  her 

Recalls  Christ's  Mountain  Sermon. 


AMONG   THE    HILLS.  37 

"He  owns  her  logic  of  the  heart, 

And  wisdom  of  unreason, 
Supplying,  while  he  doubts  and  weighs, 

The  needed  word  in  season. 

"  He  sees  with  pride  her  richer  thought, 

Her  fancy's  freer  ranges ; 
And  love  thus  deepened  to  respect 

Is  proof  against  all  changes. 

"And  if  she  walks  at  ease  in  ways 

His  feet  are  slow  to  travel, 
And  if  she  reads  with  cultured  eyes 

What  his  may  scarce  unravel,  ' 

"  Still  clearer,  for  her  keener  sight 

Of  beauty  and  of  wonder, 
He  learns  the  meaning  of  the  hills 

He  dwelt  from  childhood  under. 


38  AMONG   THE    HILLS. 

"And  higher,  warmed  with  summer  lights, 
Or  winter-crowned  and  hoary, 

The  ridged  horizon  lifts  for  him 
Its  inner  veils  of  glory. 

"  He  has  his  own  free,  bookless  lore, 
The  lessons  nature  taught  him, 

The  wisdom  which  the  woods  and  hills 
And  toiling  men  have  brought  him  : 

"  The  steady  force  of  will  whereby 
Her  flexile  grace  seems  sweeter  ; 

The  sturdy  counterpoise  which  makes 
Her  woman's  life  completer : 

"A  latent  fire  of  soul  which  lacks 
No  breath  of  love  to  fan  it ; 

And  wit,  that,  like  his  native  brooks, 
Plays  over  solid  granite. 


AMONG    THE    HILLS.  39 

*'  How  dwarfed  against  his  manliness 

She  sees  the  poor  pretension, 
The  wants,  the  aims,  the  follies,  born 

Of  fashion  and  convention  ! 

"  How  life  behind  its  accidents 
Stands  strong  and  self-sustaining, 

The  human  fact  transcending  all 
The  losing  and  the  gaining. 

"  And  so,  in  grateful  interchange 

Of  teacher  and  of  hearer, 
Their  lives  their  true  distinctness  keep 

While  daily  drawing  nearer. 

"  And  if  the  husband  or  the  wife 

In  home's  strong  light  discovers 
Such  slight  defaults  as  failed  to  meet 

The  blinded  eyes  of  lovers, 


4O  AMONG    THE    HILLS. 

"  Why  need  we  care  to  ask  ?  —  who  dreams 
Without  their  thorns  of  roses, 

Or  wonders  that  the  truest  steel 
The  readiest  spark  discloses  ? 

"  For  still  in  mutual  sufferance  lies 

The  secret  of  true  living : 
Love  scarce  is  love  that  never  knows 

The  sweetness  of  forgiving. 

"We  send  the  Squire  to  General  Court, 
He  takes  his  young  wife  thither  ; 

No  prouder  man  election  day 

Rides  through  the  sweet  June  weather. 

"  He  sees  with  eyes  of  manly  trust 

All  hearts  to  her  inclining  ; 
Not  less  for  him  his  household  light 

That  others  share  its  shining." 


AMONG   THE    HILLS.  4! 

Thus,  while  my  hostess  spake,  there  grew 

Before  me,  warmer  tinted 
And  outlined  with  a  tenderer  grace, 

The  picture  that  she  hinted. 

The  sunset  smouldered  as  we  drove 

Beneath  the  deep  hill-shadows. 
Below  us  wreaths  of  white  fog  walked 

Like  ghosts  the  haunted  meadows. 

Sounding  the  summer  night,  the  stars 
Dropped  down  their  golden  plummets ; 

The  pale  arc  of  the  Northern  lights 
Rose  o'er  the  mountain  summits, — 

Until,  at  last,  beneath  its  bridge, 
We  heard  the  Bearcamp  flowing, 

And  saw  across  the  mapled  lawn 

The  welcome  home-lights  glowing  ;  — 


42  AMONG    THE    HILLS. 

And,  musing  on  the  tale  I  heard, 
T  were  well,  thought  I,  if  often 

To  rugged  farm-life  came  the  gift 
To  harmonize  and  soften  ;  — 

If  more  and  more  we  found  the  troth 

Of  fact  and  fancy  plighted, 
And  culture's  charm  and  labor's  strength 

In  rural  homes  united,  — 

The  simple  life,  the  homely  hearth, 
With  beauty's  sphere  surrounding, 

And  blessing  toil  where  toil  abounds 
With  graces  more  abounding. 


MISCELLANEOUS-  POEMS 


THE    CLEAR    VISION. 

T    DID  but  dream.     I  never  knew 

What  charms  our  sternest  season  wore. 
Was  never  yet  the  sky  so  blue, 

Was  never  earth  so  white  before. 
Till  now  I  never  saw  the  glow 
Of  sunset  on  yon  hills  of  snow, 
And  never  learned  the  bough's  designs 
Of  beauty  in  its  leafless  lines. 

Did  ever  such  a  morning  break 
As  that  my  eastern  windows  see  ? 

Did  ever  such  a  moonlight  take 
Weird  photographs  of  shrub  and  tree  ? 


46  THE    CLEAR    VISION. 

Rang  ever  bells  so  wild  and  fleet 
The  music  of  the  winter  street  ? 
Was  ever  yet  a  sound  by  half 
So  merry  as  yon  school-boy's  laugh  ? 

O  Earth!  with  gladness  overfraught, 

No  added  charm  thy  face  hath  found  ; 
Within  my  heart  the  change  is  wrought, 
My  footsteps  make  enchanted  ground. 
From  couch  of  pain  and  curtained  room 
Forth  to  thy  light  and  air  I  come, 
To  find  in  all  that  meets  my  eyes 
The  freshness  of  a  glad  surprise. 

Fair  seem  these  winter  days,  and  soon 

Shall  blow  the  warm  west  winds  of  spring 

To  set  the  unbound  rills  in  tune, 
And  hither  urge  the  bluebird's  wing. 


THE    CLEAR    VISION.  47 

The  vales  shall  laugh  in  flowers,  the  woods 
Grow  misty  green  with  leafing  buds, 
And  violets  and  wind-flowers  sway 
Against  the  throbbing  heart  of  May. 

Break  forth,  my  lips,  in  praise,  and  own 

The  wiser  love  severely  kind  ; 
Since,  richer  for  its  chastening  grown, 

I  see,  whereas  I  once  was  blind. 
The  world,  O  Father  !  hath  not  wronged 
With  loss  the  life  by  thee  prolonged  ; 
But  still,  with  every  added  year, 
More  beautiful  thy  works  appear ! 

As  thou  hast  made  thy  world  without, 
Make  thou  more  fair  my  world  within  ; 

Shine  through  its  lingering  clouds  of  doubt ; 
Rebuke  its  haunting  shapes  of  sin  ; 


48  THE    CLEAR   VISION. 

Fill,  brief  or  long,  my  granted  span 
Of  life  with  love  to  thee  and  man  ; 
Strike  when  thou  wilt  the  hour  of  rest, 
But  let  my  last  days  be  my  best ! 

2d  Month,  1868. 


THE  DOLE  OF  JARL  THORKELL.         49 


THE   DOLE   OF  JARL   THORKELL. 

r  I  "HE  land  was  pale  with  famine 

And  racked  with  fever-pain  ; 
The  frozen  fiords  were  fishless, 
The  earth  withheld  her  grain. 

Men  saw  the  boding  Fylgja 

Before  them  come  and  go, 
And,  through  their  dreams,  the  Urdar-moon 

From  west  to  east  sailed  slow  ! 

Jarl  Thorkell  of  Thevera 

At  Yule-time  made  his  vow  ; 
On  Rykdal's  holy  Doom-stone 

He  slew  to  Frey  his  cow. 

3  D 


5O  THE    DOLE    OF   JARL    THORKELL. 

To  bounteous  Frey  he  slew  her  ; 

To  Skuld,  the  younger  Norn, 
Who  watches  over  birth  and  death, 


He  gave  her  calf  unborn. 


And  his  little  gold-haired  daughter 
Took  up  the  sprinkling-rod, 

And  smeared  with  blood  the  temple 
And  the  wide  lips  of  the  god. 

Hoarse  below,  the  winter  water 

Ground  its  ice-blocks  o'er  and  o'er  ; 

Jets  of  foam,  like  ghosts  of  dead  waves, 
Rose  and  fell  along  the  shore. 

The  red  torch  of  the  Jokul, 

Aloft  in  icy  space, 
Shone  down  on  the  bloody  Horg-stones 

And  the  statue's  carven  face. 


THE    DOLE    OF   JARL    THORKELL.  5! 

And  closer  round  and  grimmer 

Beneath  its  baleful  light 
The  Jotun  shapes  of  mountains 

Came  crowding  through  the  night. 

The  gray-haired  Hersir  trembled 

As  a  flame  by  wind  is  blown  ; 
A  weird  power  moved  his  white  lips, 

And  their  voice  was  not  his  own  ! 

"  The  yEsir  thirst  !  "    he  muttered  ; 

"  The  gods  must  have  more  blood 
Before  the  tun  shall  blossom 

Or  fish  shall  fill  the  flood. 

"  The  /Esir  thirst  and  hunger, 

And  hence  our  blight  and  ban  ; 
The  mouths  of  the  strong  gods  water 

For  the  flesh  and  blood  of  man  ! 


52  THE    DOLE    OF   JARL    THORKELL. 

"  Whom  shall  we  give  the  strong  ones  ? 

Not  warriors,  sword  on  thigh  ; 
But  let  the  nursling  infant 

And  bedrid  old  man  die." 

"  So  be  it ! "    cried  the  young  men, 
"  There  needs  nor  doubt  nor  parle  "  ; 

But,  knitting  hard  his  red  brows, 
In  silence  stood  the  Jarl. 

A  sound  of  woman's  weeping 
At  the  temple  door  was  heard  ; 

But  the  old  men  bowed  their  white  heads, 
And  answered  not  a  word. 

Then  the  Dream-wife  of  Thingvalla, 

A  Vala  young  and  fair, 
Sang  softly,  stirring  with  her  breath 

The  veil  of  her  loose  hair. 


THE    DOLE    OF   JARL    THORKELL.  53 

She  sang  :    "  The  winds  from  Alf  heim 

Bring  never  sound  of  strife  ; 
The  gifts  for  Frey  the  meetest 

Are  not  of  death,  but  life. 

• 
"  He  loves  the  grass-green  meadows, 

The  grazing  kine's  sweet  breath  ; 
He  loathes  your  bloody  Horg-stones, 
Your  gifts  that  smell  of  death. 

"  No  wrong  by  wrong  is  righted, 

No  pain  is  cured  by  pain  ; 
The  blood  that  smokes  from  Doom-rings 

Falls  back  in  redder  rain. 

"  The  gods  are  what  you  make  them, 

As  earth  shall  Asgard  prove  ; 
And  hate  will  come  of  hating, 

And  love  will  come  of  love. 


54  THE    DOLE    OF   JARL    THORKELL. 

"  Make  dole  of  skyr  and  black  bread 
That  old  and  young  may  live  ; 

And  look  to  Frey  for  favor 
When  first  like  Frey  you  give. 

"  Even  now  o'er  Njord's  sea-meadows 

The  summer  dawn  begins  ; 
The  tun  shall  have  its  harvest, 


The  fiord  its  glancing  fins." 


Then  up  and  swore  Jarl  Thorkell : 

"By  Gimli  and  by  Hel, 
O  Vala  of  Thingvalla, 

Thou  singest  wise  and  well  ! 

"  Too  dear  the  ^sir's  favors 

Bought  with  our  children's  lives  ; 

Better  die  than  shame  in  living 
Our  mothers  and  our  wives. 


THE    DOLE    OF   JARL    THORKELL.  55 

"  The  full  shall  give  his  portion 

To  him  who  hath  most  need  ; 
Of  curdled  skyr  and  black  bread, 

Be  daily  dole  decreed." 

He  broke  from  off  his  neck-chain 

Three  links  of  beaten  gold  ; 
And  each  man,  at  his  bidding, 

Brought  gifts  for  young  and  old. 

t 
Then  mothers  nursed  their  children, 

And  daughters  fed  their  sires, 
And  Health  sat  down  with  Plenty 
Before  the  next  Yule  fires. 

The  Horg-stones  stand  in  Rykdal  ; 

The  Doom-ring  still  remains  ; 
But  the  snows  of  a  thousand  winters 

Have  washed  away  the  stains. 


56          THE  DOLE  OF  JARL  THORKELL. 

Christ  ruleth  now  ;    the  /Esir 
Have  found  their  twilight  dim  ; 

And,  wiser  than  she  dreamed,  of  old 
The  Vala  sang  of  Him  ! 


THE    TWO    RABBIS. 


THE    TWO    RABBIS. 

r  I  ^HE  Rabbi  Nathan,  twoscore  years  and  ten, 

Walked  blameless  through  the  evil  world,  and 

then, 

Just  as  the  almond  blossomed  in  his  hair, 
Met  a  temptation  all  too  strong  to  bear, 
And  miserably  sinned.     So,  adding  not 
Falsehood  to  guilt,  he  left  his  seat,  and  taught 
No  more  among  the  elders,  but  went  out 
From  the  great  congregation  girt  about 
With  sackcloth,  and  with  ashes  on  his  head, 
Making  his  gray  locks  grayer.     Long  he  prayed, 
Smiting  his  breast  ;  then,  as  the  Book  he  laid 
Open  before  him  for  the  Bath-Col's  choice, 
Pausing  to  hear  that  Daughter  of  a  Voice, 


58  THE   TWO    RABBIS. 

Behold  the  royal  preacher's  words :  "  A  friend 
Loveth  at  all  times,  yea,  unto  the  end  ; 
And  for  the  evil  day  thy  brother  lives." 
Marvelling,  he  said :  "  It  is  the  Lord  who  gives 
Counsel  in  need.     At  Ecbatana  dwells 
Rabbi  Ben  Isaac,  who  all  men  excels 
In  righteousness  and  wisdom,  as  the  trees 
Of  Lebanon  the  small  weecjs  that  the  bees 
Bow  with  their  weight.     I  will  arise,  and  lay 
My  sins  before  him." 

And  he  went  his  way 

Barefooted,  fasting  long,  with  many  prayers  ; 
But  even  as  one  who,  followed  unawares, 
Suddenly  in  the  darkness  feels  a  hand 
Thrill  with  its  touch  his  own,  and  his  cheek  fanned 
By  odors  subtly  sweet,  and  whispers  near 
Of  words  he  loathes,  yet  cannot  choose  but  hear, 


THE    TWO    RABBIS.  59 

So,  while  the  Rabbi  journeyed,  chanting  low 
The  wail  of  David's  penitential  woe, 
Before  him  still  the  old  temptation  came, 
And  mocked  him  with  the  motion  and  the  shame 
Of  such  desires  that,  shuddering,  he  abhorred 
Himself;  and,  crying  mightily  to  the  Lord 
To  free  his  soul  and  cast  the  demon  out, 
Smote  with  his  staff  the  blankness  round  about. 

At  length,  in  the  low  light  of  a  spent  day, 
The  towers  of  Ecbatana  far  away 
Rose  on  the  desert's  rim  ;  and  Nathan,  faint 
And  footsore,  pausing  where  for  some  dead  saint 
The  faith  of  Islam  reared  a  domed  tomb, 
Saw  some  one  kneeling  in  the  shadow,  whom 
He  greeted  kindly  :  "  May  the  Holy  One 
Answer  thy  prayers,  O  stranger ! "     Whereupon 
The  shape  stood  up  with  a  loud  cry,  and  then, 


6O  THE    TWO    RABBIS. 

Clasped  in  each  other's  arms,  the  two  gray  men 
Wept,  praising  Him  whose  gracious  providence 
Made  their  paths  one.     But  straightway,  as  the  sense 
Of  his  transgression  smote  him,  Nathan  tore 
Himself  away :  "  O  friend  beloved,  no  more 
Worthy  am  I  to  touch  thee,  for  I  came, 
Foul  from  my  sins,  to  tell  thee  all  my  shame. 
Haply  thy  prayers,  since  naught-  availeth  mine, 
May  purge  my  soul,  and  make  it  white  like  thine. 
Pity  me,  O  Ben  Isaac,  I  have  sinned  ! " 

Awestruck  Ben  Isaac  stood.     The  desert  wind 

Blew  his  long  mantle  backward,  laying  bare 

The  mournful  secret  of  his  shirt  of  hair. 

"  I  too,  O  friend,  if  not  in  act,"  he  said, 

"  In  thought  have  verily  sinned.     Hast  thou  not  read, 

'  Better  the  eye  should  see  than  that  desire 

Should  wander  ? '     Burning  with  a  hidden  fire 


THE    TWO    RABBIS.  6 1 

That  tears  and  prayers  quench  not,  I  come  to  thee 
For  pity  and  for  help,  as  thou  to  me. 
Pray  for  me,  O  my  friend ! "     But  Nathan  cried, 
"  Pray  thou  for  me,  Ben  Isaac !  " 

Side  by  side 

In  the  low  sunshine  by  the  turban  stone 
They  knelt ;   each  made  his  brother's  woe  his  own, 
Forgetting,  in  the  agony  and  stress 
Of  pitying  love,  his  claim  of  selfishness  ; 

Peace,  for  his  friend  besought,  his  own  became  ; 

« 

His  prayers  were  answered  in  another's  name  ; 
And,  when  at  last  they  rose  up  to  embrace, 
Each  saw  God's  pardon  in  his  brother's  face  ! 

Long  after,  when  his  headstone  gathered  moss, 

Traced  on  the  targum-marge  of  Onkelos 

In  Rabbi  Nathan's  hand  these  words  were  read: 


62  THE    TWO    RABBIS. 

"Hope  not  the  cure  of  sin  till  Self  is  dead ; 
Forget  it  in  loves  service,  and  tJie  debt 
Thou  canst  not  pay  the  angels  shall  forget ; 
Heavens  gate  is  shut  to  him  who  comes  alone ; 
Save  thoti  a  soul,  and  it  shall  save  thy  own  !  " 


THE    MEETING.  63 


THE    MEETING. 

'T^HE  elder  folk  shook  hands  at  last, 

Down  seat  by  seat  the  signal  passed. 
To  simple  ways  like  ours  unused, 
Half  solemnized  and  half  amused, 
With  long-drawn  breath  and  shrug,  my  guest 
His  sense  of  glad  relief  expressed. 
Outside  the  hills  lay  warm  in  sun  ; 
The  cattle  in  the  meadow-run 
Stood  half-leg  deep  ;    a  single  bird 
The  green  repose  above  us  stirred. 
"  What  part  or  lot  have  you,"  he  said, 
"  In  these  dull  rites  of  drowsy-head  ? 
Is  silence  worship  ?  —  Seek  it  where 
It  soothes  with  dreams  the  summer  air, 


64  THE    MEETING. 

Not  in  this  close  and  rude-benched  hall, 

But  where  soft  lights  and  shadows  fall, 

And  all  the  slow,  sleep-walking  hours 

Glide  soundless  over  grass  and  flowers  ! 

From  time  and  place  and  form  apart, 

Its  holy  ground  the  human  heart, 

Nor  ritual-bound  nor  templeward 

Walks  the  free  spirit  of  the  Lord  ! 

Our  common  Master  did  not  pen 

His  followers  up  from  other  men  ; 

His  service  liberty  indeed, 

He  built  no  church,  he  framed  no  creed  ; 

But  while  the  saintly  Pharisee 

Made  broader  his  phylactery, 

As  from  the  synagogue  was  seen 

The  dusty-sandalled  Nazarene 

Through  ripening  cornfields  lead  the  way 

Upon  the  awful  Sabbath,  day, 


THE    MEETING.  65 

His  sermons  were  the  healthful  talk 
That  shorter  made  the  mountain-walk, 
His  wayside  texts  were  flowers  and  birds, 
Where  mingled  with  His  gracious  words 
The  rustle  of  the  tamarisk-tree 
And  ripple-wash  of  Galilee." 

"  Thy  words  are  well,  O  friend,"  I  said  ; 

"  Unmeasured  and  unlimited, 

With  noiseless  slide  of  stone  to  stone, 

The  mystic  Church  of  God  has  grown. 

Invisible  and  silent  stands 

The  temple  never  made  with  hands, 

Unheard  the  voices  still  and  small 

Of  its  unseen  confessional. 

He  needs  no  special  place  of  prayer 

Whose  hearing  ear  is  everywhere  ; 

He  brings  not  back  the  childish  days 


66  THE    MEETING. 

That  ringed  the  earth  with  stones  of  praise, 
Roofed  Karnak's  hall  of  gods,  and  laid 
The  plinths  of  Philae's  colonnade. 
Still  less  He  owns  the  selfish  good 
And  sickly  growth  of  solitude,  — 
The  worthless  grace  that,  out  of  sight, 
Flowers  in  the  desert  anchorite  ; 
Dissevered  from  the  suffering  whole, 
Love  hath  no  power  to  save  a  soul. 
Not  out  of  Self,  the  origin 
And  native  air  and  soil  of  sin, 
The  living  waters  spring  and  flow, 
The  trees  with  leaves  of  healing  grow. 

"  Dream  not,  O  friend,  because  I  seek 
This  quiet  shelter  twice  a  week, 
I  better  deem  its  pine-laid  floor 
Than  breezy  hill  or  sea-sung  shore  ; 


THE    MEETING,  6/ 

But  nature  is  not  solitude  ; 

She  crowds  us  with  her  thronging  wood  ; 

Her  many  hands  reach  out  to  us, 

Her  many  tongues  are  garrulous  ; 

Perpetual  riddles  of  surprise 

She  offers  to  our  ears  and  eyes  ; 

She  will  not  leave  our  senses  still, 

But  drags  them  captive  at  her  will  ; 

And,  making  earth  too  great  for  heaven, 

She  hides  the  Giver  in  the  given, 

"And  so,  I  find  it  well  to  come 
For  deeper  rest  to  this  still  room, 
For  here  the  habit  of  the  soul, 
Feels  less  the  outer  world's  control  ;  - 
The  strength  of  mutual  purpose  pleads 
More  earnestly  our  common  needs  ; 
And  from  the  silence  multiplied 


68  THE    MEETING. 

By  these  still  forms  on  either  side, 

The  world  that  time  and  sense  have  known 

Falls  off  and  leaves  us  God  alone. 

"  Yet  rarely  through  the  charmed  repose 
Unmixed  the  stream  of  motive  flows, 
A  flavor  of  its  many  springs, 
The  tints  of  earth  and  sky  it  brings  ; 
In  the  still  waters  needs  must  be 
Some  shade  of  human  sympathy  ; 
And  here,  in  its  accustomed  place, 

4 

I  look  on  memory's  dearest  face  ; 
The  blind  by-sitter  guesseth  not 
What  shadow  haunts  that  vacant  spot  ; 
No  eye  save  mine  alone  can  see 
The  love  wherewith  it  welcomes  me  ! 
And  still,  with  those  alone  my  kin, 
In  doubt  and  weakness,  want  and  sin, 


THE    MEETING.  69 

I  bow  my  head,  my  heart  I  bare  - 
As  when  that  face  was  living  there, 
And  strive  (too  oft,  alas  !  in  vain) 
The  peace  of  simple  trust  to  gain, 
Fold  fancy's  restless  wings,  and  lay 
The  idols  of  my  heart  away. 

"  Welcome  the  silence  all  unbroken, 

Nor  less  the  words  of  fitness  spoken,  — 

Such  golden  words  as  hers  for  whom 

Our  autumn  flowers  have  just  made  room  ; 

Whose  hopeful  utterance  through  and  through 

The  freshness  of  the  morning  blew  ; 

Who  loved  not  less  the  earth  that  light 

Fell  on  it  from  the  heavens  in  sight, 

But  saw  in  all  fair  forms  more  fair 

The  Eternal  beauty  mirrored  there. 

Whose  eighty  years  but  added  grace 


/O  THE    MEETING. 

And  saintlier  meaning  to  her  face,  — 

The  look  of  one  who  bore  away 

Glad  tidings  from  the  hills  of  day, 

While  all  our  hearts  went  forth  to  meet 

The  coming  of  her  beautiful  feet ! 

Or  haply  hers,  whose  pilgrim  tread 

Is  in  the  paths  where  Jesus  led  ; 

Who  dreams  her  childhood's  sabbath  dream 

By  Jordan's  willow-shaded  stream, 

And,  of  the  hymns  of  hope  and  faith, 

Sung  by  the  monks  of  Nazareth, 

Hears  pious  echoes,  in  the  call 

To  prayer,  from  Moslem  minarets  fall, 

Repeating  where  His  works  were  wrought 

The  lesson  that  her  Master  taught, 

Of  whom  an  elder  Sibyl  gave, 

The  prophecies  of  Cumae's  cave  ! 


THE    MEETING. 

"  I  ask  no  organ's  soulless  breath 

To  drone  the  themes  of  life  and  death, 

No  altar  candle-lit  by  day, 

No  ornate  wordsman's  rhetoric-play, 

No  cool  philosophy  to  teach 

Its  bland  audacities  of  speech 

To  double-tasked  idolaters 

Themselves  their  gods  and  worshippers, 

No  pulpit  hammered  by  the  fist 

Of  loud-asserting  dogmatist, 

Who  borrows  for  the  hand  of  love 

The  smoking  thunderbolts  of  Jove. 

I  know  how  well  the  fathers  taught, 

What  work  the  later  schoolmen  wrought  ; 

I  reverence  old-time  faith  and  men, 

But  God  is  near  us  now  as  then  ; 

His  force  of  love  is  still  unspent, 

His  hate  of  sin  as  imminent ; 


72  THE    MEETING. 

And  still  the  measure  of  our  needs 
Outgrows  the  cramping  bounds  of  creeds ; 
The  manna  gathered  yesterday 
Already  savors  of  decay  ; 
Doubts  to  the  world's  child-heart  unknown 
Question  us  now  from  star  and  stone  ; 
Too  little  or  too  much  we  know, 
And  sight  is  swift  and  faith  is  slow  ; 
The  power  is  lost  to  self-deceive 
With  shallow  forms  of  make-believe. 
We  walk  at  high  noon,  and  the  bells 
Call  to  a  thousand  oracles, 
But  the  sound  deafens,  and  the  light 
Is  stronger  than  our  dazzled  sight ; 
The  letters  of  the  sacred  Book 
Glimmer  and  swim  beneath  our  look  ; 
Still  struggles  in  the  Age's  breast 
With  deepening  agony  of  quest 


THE    MEETING.  73 

The  old  entreaty  :  '  Art  thou  He, 
Or  look  we  for  the  Christ  to  be  ? ' 

"  God  should  be  most  where  man  is  least  ; 
So,  where  is  neither  church  nor  priest, 
And  never  rag  of  form  or  creed 
To  clothe  the  nakedness  of  need,  — 
Where  farmer-folk  in  silence  meet, — 
I  turn  my  bell-unsummoned  feet  ; 
I  lay  the  critic's  glass  aside, 
I  tread  upon  my  lettered  pride, 
And,  lowest-seated,  testify 
To  the  oneness  of  humanity  ; 
Confess  the  universal  want, 
And  share  whatever  heaven  may  grant 
He  findeth  not  who  seeks  his  own, 
The  soul  is  lost  that's  saved  alone. 
Not  on  one  favored  forehead  fell 
4 


74  THE    MEETING. 

Of  old  the  fire-tongued  miracle, 

But  flamed  o'er  all  the  thronging  host 

The  baptism  of  the  Holy  Ghost ; 

Heart  answers  heart ;  in  one  desire 

The  blending  lines  of  prayer  aspire  ; 

'  Where,  in  my  name,  meet  two  or  three/ 

Our  Lord  hath  said,  '  I  there  will  be ! ' 

"  So  sometimes  comes  to  soul  and  sense 

The  feeling  which  is  evidence 

That  very  near  about  us  lies 

The  realm  of  spiritual  mysteries. 

The  sphere  of  the  supernal  powers 

Impinges  on  this  world  of  ours. 

The  low  and  dark  horizon  lifts, 

To  light  the  scenic  terror  shifts  ; 

The  breath  of  a  diviner  air 

Blows  down  the  answer  of  a  prayer  :  — 


THE    MEETING.  75 

That  all  our  sorrow,  pain,  and  doubt 
A  great  compassion  clasps  about, 
And  law  and  goodness,  love  and  force, 
Are  wedded  fast  beyond  divorce. 
Then  duty  leaves  to  love  its  task, 
The  beggar  Self  forgets  to  ask ; 
With  smile  of  trust  and  folded  hands, 
The  passive  soul  in  waiting  stands 
To  feel,  as  flowers  the  sun  and  dew, 
The  One  true  Life  its  own  renew. 

"  So,  to  the  calmly  gathered  thought 
The  innermost  of  truth  is  taught, 
The  mystery  dimly  understood, 
That  love  of  God  is  love  of  good, 
And,  chiefly,  its  divinest  trace 
In  Him  of  Nazareth's  holy  face  ; 
That  to  be  saved  is  only  this, — 


THE    MEETING. 

Salvation  from  our  selfishness, 

From  more  than  elemental  fire, 

The  soul's  unsanctified  desire, 

From  sin  itself,  and  not  the  pain 

That  warns  us  of  its  chafing  chain  ; 

That  worship's  deeper  meaning  lies 

In  mercy,  and  not  sacrifice, 

Not  proud  humilities  of  sense 

And  posturing  of  penitence, 

But  love's  unforced  obedience  ; 

That  Book  and  Church  and  Day  are  given 

For  man,  not  God, — for  earth,  not  heaven, 

The  blessed  means  to  holiest  ends, 

Not  masters,  but  benignant  friends  ; 

That  the  dear  Christ  dwells  not  afar 

The  king  of  some  remoter  star, 

Listening,  at  times,  with  flattered  ear 

To  homage  wrung  from  selfish  fear, 


THE    MEETING.  77 

But  here,  amidst  the  poor  and  blind, 
The  bound  and  suffering  of  our  kind, 
In  works  we  do,  in  prayers  we  pray, 
Life  of  our  life,  he  lives  to-day." 


/  8  THE    ANSWER. 


THE    ANSWER. 

O  PARE  me,  dread  angel  of  reproof, 
And  let  the  sunshine  weave  to-day 

Its  gold-threads  in  the  warp  and  woof 
Of  life  so  poor  and  gray. 

Spare  me  awhile  ;  the  flesh  is  weak. 

These  lingering  feet,  that  fain  would  stray 
Among  the  flowers,  shall  some  day  seek 

The  strait  and  narrow  way. 

Take  off  thy  ever-watchful  eye, 
The  awe  of  thy  rebuking  frown  ; 

The  dullest  slave  at  times  must  sigh 
To  fling  his  burdens  down  ; 


THE    ANSWER.  79 

To  drop  his  galley's  straining  oar, 

And  press,  in  summer  warmth  and  calm, 

The  lap  of  some  enchanted  shore 
Of  blossom  and  of  balm. 

Grudge  not  my  life  its  hour  of  bloom, 
My  heart  its  taste  of  long  desire  ; 

This  day  be  mine  :  be  those  to  come 
As  duty  shall  require. 

The  deep  voice  answered  to  my  own, 
Smiting  my  selfish  prayers  away  : 

"To-morrow  is  with  God  alone, 
And  man  hath  but  to-day. 

"  Say  not,  thy  fond,  vain  heart  within, 
The  Father's  arms>  shall  still  be  wide, 

When  from  these  pleasant  ways  of  sin 
Thou  turn'st  at  eventide. 


80  THE    ANSWER. 

"'Cast  thyself  down/  the  tempter  saith, 

'And  angels  shall  thy  feet  upbear.' 
He  bids  thee  make  a  lie  of  faith, 

And  blasphemy  of  prayer. 

* 

"Though  God  be  good  and  free  be  Heaven, 
No  force  divine  can  love  compel  ; 

And,  though  the  song  of  sins  forgiven 
May  sound  throiigh  lowest  hell, 

"The  sweet  persuasion  of  His  voice 

Respects  thy  sanctity  of  will. 
He  giveth  day  :  thou  hast  thy  choice 

To  walk  in  darkness  still  ; 

"  As  one  who,  turning  from  the  light, 
Watches  his  own  gray  shadow  fall, 

Doubting  upon  his  path  of  night, 
If  there  be  day  at  all-! 


THE    ANSWER.  8  I 

"No  word  of  doom  may  shut  thee  out, 
No  wind  of  wrath  may  downward  whirl, 

No  swords  of  fire  keep  watch  about 
The  open  gates  of  pearl  ; 

"A  tenderer  light  than  moon  or  sun, 
Than  song  of  earth  a  sweeter  hymn, 

May  shine  and  sound  forever  on, 
And  thou  be  deaf  and  dim. 

"  Forever  round  the  Mercy-seat 

The  guiding  lights  of  Love  shall  burn. ; 

But  what  if,  habit-bound,  thy  feet 
Shall  lack  the  will  to  turn  ? 

"  What  if  thine  eye  refuse  to  see, 

Thine  ear  of  Heaven's  free  welcome  fail, 

And  thou  a  willing  captive  be, 
Thyself  thy  own  dark  jail  ? 


82  THE    ANSWER. 

"O  doom  beyond  the  saddest  guess, 
As  the  long  years  of  God  unroll 

To  make  thy  dreary  selfishness 
The  prison  of  a  soul  ! 

"To  doubt  the  love  that  fain  would  break 
The  fetters  from  thy  self-bound  limb  ; 

And  dream  that  God  can  thee  forsake 
As  thou  forsakest  him  ! " 


G.    L.    S.  83 


G.    L.    S. 

T  T  E  has  done  the  work  of  a  true  man,  — 

Crown  him,  honor  him,  love  him. 
Weep  over  him,  tears  of  woman, 
Stoop  manliest  brows  above  him  ! 

O  dusky  mothers  and  daughters, 
Vigils  of  mourning  keep  for  him  ! 

Up  in  the  mountains,  and  down  by  the  waters, 
Lift  up  your  voices  and  weep  for  him  ! 

For  the  warmest  of  hearts  is  frozen, 

The  freest  of  hands  is  still  ; 
And  the  gap  in  our  picked  and  chosen 

The  long  years  may  not  fill.  ^ 


84  G.  L.  s. 

No  duty  could  overtask  him, 

No  need  his  will  outrun  ; 
Or  ever  our  lips  could  ask  him, 

His  hands  the  work  had  done. 

He  forgot  his  own  soul  for  others, 
Himself  to  his  neighbor  lending  ; 

He  found  the  Lord  in  his  suffering  brothers, 
And  not  in  the  clouds  descending. 

So  the  bed  was  sweet  to  die  on, 

Whence  he  saw  the  doors  wide  swung 

Against  whose  bolted  iron 

The  strength  of  his  life  was  flung. 

And  he  saw  ere  his  eye  was  darkened 

< 

The  sheaves  of  the  harvest-bringing, 

And  knew  while  his  ear  yet  hearkened 
The  voice  of  the  reapers  singing. 


G.    L.    S.  85 

Ah,  well !  —  The  world  is  discreet  ; 

There  are  plenty  to  pause  and  wait  ; 
But  here  was  a  man  who  set  his  feet 

Sometimes  in  advance  of  fate,  — 

Plucked  off  the  old  bark  when  the  inner 

Was  slow  to  renew  it, 
And  put  to  the  Lord's  work  the  sinner 

When  saints  failed  to  do  it. 

Never  rode  to  the  wrong's  redressing 

A  worthier  paladin. 
Shall  he  not  hear  the  blessing, 

"  Good  and  faithful,  enter  in  !  " 


86  FREEDOM    IN    BRAZIL. 


FREEDOM    IN    BRAZIL. 

\  X  7ITH  clearer  light,  Cross  of  the  South,  shine 
forth 

In  blue  Brazilian  skies  ; 
And  thou,  O  river,  cleaving  half  the  earth 

From  sunset  to  sunrise, 
From  the  great  mountains  to  the  Atlantic  waves 

Thy  joy's  long  anthem  pour. 
Yet  a  few  days  (God  make  them  less  !)  and  slaves 

Shall  shame  thy  pride  no  more. 
No  fettered  feet  thy  shaded  margins  press  ; 

But  all  men  shall  walk  free 
Where  thou,  the  high-priest  of  the  wilderness, 

Hast  wedded  sea  to  sea.  - 


FREEDOM    IN    BRAZIL.  8/ 

And  thou,  great-hearted  ruler,  through  whose  mouth 

The  word  of  God  is  said, 

• 

Once  more,  "  Let  there  be  light !  "  —  Son  of  the 
South, 

Lift  up  thy  honored  head, 
Wear  unashamed  a  crown  by  thy  desert 

More  than  by  birth  thy  own, 
Careless  of  watch  and  ward  ;  thou  art  begirt 
,  By  grateful  hearts  alone. 
The  moated  wall  and  battle-ship  may  fail, 

But  safe  shall  justice  prove  ; 
Stronger  than  greaves  of  brass  or  iron  mail 

The  panoply  of  love. 

Crowned  doubly  by  man's  blessing  and  God's  grace, 

Thy  future  is  secure  ; 
Who  frees  a  people  makes  his  statue's  place 

In  Time's  Valhalla  sure. 


88  FREEDOM    IN    BRAZIL. 

Lo  !  from  his  Neva's  banks  the  Scythian  Czar 

Stretches  to  thee  his  hand 
Who,  with  the  pencil  of  the  Northern  star, 

Wrote  freedom  on  his  land. 
And  he  whose  grave  is  holy  by  our  calm 

And  prairied  Sangamon, 
From  his  gaunt  hand  shall  drop  the  martyr's  palm 

To  greet  thee  with  "  Well  done  !  " 

And    thou,    O    Earth,    with    smiles    thy   face    make 
sweet, 

And  let  thy  wail  be  stilled, 
To  hear  the  Muse  of  prophecy  repeat 

Her  promise  half  fulfilled. 
The  Voice  that  spake  at  Nazareth  speaks  still, 

No  sound  thereof  hath  died  ; 
Alike  thy  hope  and  heaven's  eternal  will 

Shall  yet  be  satisfied. 


FREEDOM    IN    BRAZIL.  89 

The  years  are  slow,  the  vision  tarrieth  long, 

And  far  the  end  may  be  ; 
But,  one  by  one,  the  fiends  of  ancient  wrong 

Go  out  and  leave  thee  free. 


90  DIVINE    COMPASSION. 


DIVINE    COMPASSION. 

T     ONG  since,  a  dream  of  heaven  I  had, 

And  still  the  vision  haunts  me  oft  ; 
I  see  the  saints  in  white  robes  clad, 

The  martyrs  with  their  palms  aloft ;  - 
But  hearing  still,  in  middle  song, 

The  ceaseless  dissonance  of  wrong  ; 
And  shrinking,  with  hid  faces,  from  the  strain 
Of  sad,  beseeching  eyes,  full  of  remorse  and  pain. 

The  glad  song  falters  to  a  wail, 

The  harping  sinks  to  low  lament ; 
Before  the  still  unlifted  veil 

I  see  the  crowned  foreheads  bent, 


DIVINE    COMPASSION.  9 1 

Making  more  sweet  the  heavenly  air, 

With  breathings  of  unselfish  prayer; 
And  a  Voice  saith  :  "  O  Pity  which  is  pain, 
O  Love  that  weeps,  fill  up  my  sufferings  which 
remain  ! 

"Shall  souls  redeemed  by  me  refuse 
To  share  my  sorrow  in  their  turn  ? 

Or,  sin-forgiven,  my  gift  abuse 
Of  peace  with  selfish  unconcern  ? 

Has  saintly  ease  no  pitying  care  ? 

Has  faith  no  work,  and  love  no  prayer  ? 

While  sin  remains,  and  souls  in  darkness, 

Can  heaven  itself  be  heaven,  and  look  unmoved 
on  hell?" 

Then  through  the  Gates  of  Pain,  I  dream, 
A  wind  of  heaven  blows  coolly  in  ; 


92  DIVINE    COMPASSION. 

Fainter  the  awful  discords  seem, 
i 

The  smoke  of  torment  grows  more  thin, 
Tears  quench  the  burning  soil,  and  thence 

Spring  sweet,  pale  flowers  of  penitence ; 
And  through  the  dreary  realm  of  man's  despair, 
Star-crowned  an  angel  walks,  and  lo  !  God's  hope 
is  there ! 

Is  it  a  dream  ?     Is  heaven  so  high 

That  pity  cannot  breathe  its  air  ? 
Its  happy  eyes  forever  dry, 

Its  holy  lips  without  a  prayer ! 
My  God !  my  God  !  if  thither  led 

By  thy  free  grace  unmerited, 
No  crown  nor  palm  be  mine,  but  let  me  keep 
A  heart    that    still    can  feel,,  and    eyes    that    still 
can  weep. 


LINES    ON    A    FLY-LEAF.  93 


LINES    ON    A    FLY-LEAF. 

T    NEED  not  ask  thee,  for  my  sake, 
To  read  a  book  which  well  may  make 
Its  way  by  native  force  of  wit 
Without  my  manual  sign  to  it. 
Its  piquant  writer  needs  from  me 
No  gravely  masculine  guaranty, 
And  well  might  laugh  her  merriest  laugh 
At  broken  spears  in  her  behalf  ; 
Yet,  spite  of  all  the  critics  tell, 
I  frankly  own  I  like  her  well. 
It  may  be  that  she  wields  a  pen 
Too  sharply  nibbed  for  thin-skinned  men, 
That  her  keen  arrows  search  and   try 
The  armor  joints  of  dignity, 


94  LINES    ON   A    FLY-LEAF. 

And,  though  alone  for  error  meant, 
Sing  through  the  air  irreverent. 
I   blame  her  not,  the  young  athlete 
Who  plants  her  woman's  tiny  feet, 
And  dares  the  chances  of  debate 
Where  bearded  men  might  hesitate, 
Who,  deeply  earnest,  seeing  well 
The  ludicrous  and  laughable, 
Mingling  in  eloquent  excess 
Her  anger  and  her  tenderness, 
And,  chiding  with  a  half-caress, 
Strives,  less  for  her  own  sex  than  ours, 
With  principalities  and  powers, 
And  points  us  upward  to  the  clear 
Sunned  heights  of  her  new  atmosphere. 

Heaven  mend  her  faults  !  —  I  will  not  pause 
To  weigh  and  doubt  and  peck  at  flaws, 


LINES    ON    A    FLY-LEAF.  95 

Or  waste  my  pity  when  some  fool 

Provokes  her  measureless  ridicule. 

Strong-minded  is  she  ?     Better  so 

Than  dulness  set  for  sale  or  show, 

A  household  folly  capped  and  belled 

In  fashion's  dance  of  puppets  held, 

Or  poor  pretence  of  womanhood, 

Whose  formal,  flavorless  platitude 

Is  warranted  from  all  offence 

Of  robust  meaning's  violence. 

Give  me  the  wine  of  thought  whose  bead 

Sparkles  along  the  page  I  read, 

Electric  words  in  which  I  find 

The  tonic  of  the  northwest  wind, — 

The  wisdom  which  itself  allies 

To  sweet  and  pure  humanities, 

Where  scorn  of  meanness,  hate  of  wrong, 

Are  underlaid  by  love  as  strong  ; 


96  LINES    ON    A    FLY-LEAF. 

The  genial  play  of  mirth  that  lights 
Grave  themes  of  thought,  as,  when  on  nights 
Of  summer-time,  the  harmless  blaze 
Of  thunderless  heat-lightning  plays, 
And  tree  and  hill-top  resting  dim 
And  doubtful   on  the  sky's  vague  rim, 
Touched  by  that  soft  and  lambent  gleam, 
Start  sharply  outlined  from  their  dream. 

Talk  not  to  me  of  woman's  sphere, 
Nor  point  with  scripture  texts  a  sneer, 
Nor  wrong  the  manliest  saint  of  all 
By  doubt,  if  he  were  here,  that  Paul 
Would  own  the  heroines  who  have  lent 
Grace  to  truth's  stern  arbitrament, 
Foregone  the  praise  to  woman  sweet, 
And  cast  their  crowns  at  Duty's  feet  ; 
Like  her,  who  by  her  strong  Appeal 


LINES    ON    A    FLY-LEAF.  97 

Made  Fashion  weep  and  Mammon  feel, 

Who,  earliest  summoned  to  withstand 

The  color-madness  of  the  land, 

Counted  her  life-long  losses  gain, 

And  made  her  own  her  sisters'  pain  ; 

Or  her,  who  in  her  greenwood  shade, 

Heard  the  sharp  call  that  Freedom  made, 

And,  answering,  struck  from  Sappho's  lyre 

Of  love  the  Tyrtsean  carmen's  fire  ; 

Or  that  young  girl,  —  Domremy's  maid 

Revived  a  nobler  cause  to  aid, — 

Shaking  from  warning  finger-tips 

The  doom  of  her  apocalypse  ; 

Or  her,  who  world-wide  entrance  gave 

To  the  log-cabin  of  the  slave, 

Made  all  his  want  and  sorrow  known, 

And  all  earth's  languages  his  own. 

3  G 


98  HYMN. 


HYMN 

FOR   THE    HOUSE    OF    WORSHIP   AT   GEORGETOWN, 

ERECTED    IN    MEMORY    OF   A   MOTHER. 


nPHOU  dwellest  not,  O  Lord  of  all  ! 
In  temples  which  thy  children  raise  ; 
Our  work  to  thine  is  mean  and  small, 
And  brief  to  thy  eternal  days. 

Forgive  the  weakness  and  the  pride, 
If  marred  thereby  our  gift  may  be, 

For  love,  at  least,  has  sanctified 
The  altar  that  we  rear  to  thee. 

The  heart  and  not  the  hand  has  wrought 
From  sunken  base  to  tower  above 


HYMN.  99 

The  image  of  a  tender  thought, 
The  memory  of  a  deathless  love  ! 

And  though  should  never  sound  of  speech 

Or  organ  echo  from  its  wall, 
Its  stones  would  pious  lessons  teach, 

Its  shade  in  benedictions  fall. 

Here  should  the  dove  of  peace  be  found, 
And  blessings  and  not  curses  given  ; 

Nor  strife  profane,  nor  hatred  wound, 
The  mingled  loves  of  earth  and  heaven. 

Thou,  who  didst  soothe  with  dying  breath 
The  dear  one  watching  by  thy  cross, 

Forgetful  of  the  pains  of  death 
In  sorrow  for  her  mighty  loss, 


100  HYMN. 

In  memory  of  that  tender  claim, 
O  Mother-born,  the  offering  take, 

And  make  it  worthy  of  thy  name, 
And  bless  it  for  a  mother's  sake  ! 


THE     END. 


Cambridge  :  Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


JOHN  G.  WHITTIERS  WRITINGS 

PUBLISHED    BY 

FIELDS,  OSGOOD,  &   CO.,   BOSTON, 

And  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  post-paid,  by  the  Publishers 
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POETICAL  WORKS.  With  Portrait.  Cabinet  Edition.  2  vols. 
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POETICAL    WORKS.      With  Portrait.      Blue  and  Gold  Edition. 

2  VOls.       $  3.00. 

POETICAL  WORKS.  Red- Line  Edition.  With  12  full-page  Illus 
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POETICAL   WORKS.     Diamond  Edition.     I  vol.     $1.50. 
AMONG   THE  HILLS,  and  other  Poems.     With  3  Illustrations. 

i  vol.     $  1.50. 

TENT  ON  THE  BEACH,  and  other  Poems,     i  vol.     $1.50. 

SNOW-BOUND.  A  Winter  Idyl.  A  new  Poem.  With  Portrait, 
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SNOW-BOUND.  Illustrated  Edition.  With  40  Illustrations  by 
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Cloth,  full  gilt,  $5.00. 

IN  WAR-TIME,  and  other  Poems,     i  vol.     $  1.25. 

NATIONAL  LYRICS.  Illustrated,  i  vol.  Paper,  50  cts ;  Mo 
rocco  cloth,  with  Portrait,  $  i.oo. 

HOME  BALLADS  AND  POEMS,     i  vol.     $1.00. 

PROSE  WORKS.  New  and  Complete  Edition.  2  vols.  Bevelled 
boards,  gilt  top.  $5.00. 

MAUD  MULLER.  Illustrated  Edition.  With  13  Pictures  by 
W.  J.  HENNESSY.  i  vol.  Cloth,  full  gilt.  $3.50. 


For  a  fuller  description  of  the  Illustrated  Volumes  see  fol 
lowing  pages. 

i 


THE  ILL  USTRA  TED  SNO  W-BOUND. 


WHITTIEFS  SNOW-BOUND.  With  40  Pictures  by  HARRY 
FENN,  engraved  by  ANTHONY  and  LINTON.  i  vol.  8vo.  Tinted  paper,  gilt 
edges,  and  bevelled  boards,  with  ornamental  cover.  Price,  in  Morocco  Cloth, 
$  5.00 ;  Turkey  Morocco,  $  9.00. 


"  The  well-curb  had  a  Chinese  roof; 
And  even  the  long  sweep  high  aloof 
In  its  slant  splendor  seemed  to  tell 
Of  Pisa's  leaning  miracle." 

Of  the  illustrations  to  this  exquisite  Winter  Idyl  Mr.  Whittier  says  :  "  It  gives  me 
pleasure  to  commend  the  illustrations  which  accompany  this  edition  of'  Snow- Bound,' 
for  the  faithfulness  with  which  they  present  the  spirit  and  the  details  of  the  passages 
and  places  that  the  artist  has  designed  them  to  accompany." 

"  The  illustrations  and  the  poem  fit  together  so  perfectly,  forming  a  beautiful  and 
harmonious  whole,  that  one  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  read  'Snow-Bound'  unless 
he  has  read  it  in  this  edition."  —  New  York  Times. 


MA  UD  MULLER  ILL  USTRA  TED. 


WHITTIER'S  MAUD   MULLER.     With  13  Illustrations  drawn 
by  W.  J.  HENNESSY,  and  engraved  by  A.  V.  S.  ANTHONY  and  others. 


This  edition  of  one  of  the  most  charming  and  popular  ballads  in  our  language  is 
beautifully  illustrated,  elegantly  printed  on  thick  tinted  paper,  and  bound  in  hand 
some  morocco  cloth  with  bevelled  boards  and  gilt  edges. 

Price,  8vo,  Cloth,  gilt,  $3.50  ;  Morocco  Antique,  $7.00. 


WHITTIERS  NATIONAL  LYRICS. 

With  Illustrations  by  various  Artists.  A  charming  Pocket  Edition 
of  WHITTIEK'S  most  popular  patriotic  poems.  Bound  in  Morocco  Cloth,  with 
Portrait.  Price,  $  i.oo. 


THE  RED-LINE    WHITTIER. 


Illustrated  with   12  full-page   Pictures  by  various  Artists. 


KATHLEEN. 

This  first  and  only  complete  Illustrated  Edition  of  WHITTIER  ever  published 
contains  all  of  MR.  WHITTIER'S  hitherto  published  Poems,  is  handsomely  printed 
on  fine  tinted  paper,  each  page  bordered  with  a  red-ruled  line,  and  is  illustrated  with 
12  engravings  by  the  best  artists.  It  is  a  small  quarto,  uniform  with  the  "  Red-Line 
TENNYSON." 

Price,  in  Cloth,  $4.50;  Half  Calf,  $  6.00  ;  Morocco,  $8.00. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY — TEL.  NO.  642-3405 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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General  Library 
University  of  California 


